Batter my heart, three-party’d God, for you
As yet but poke, canvass, opine, and seek to rend;
That you may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force to profit, destruction, burn, and all untrue.
I, like an usurp’d town with taxes due,
Labour will admit you, but oh, to no end;
Media, your viceroy omnipresent, me should defend,
But is captiv’d, and proves weak and untrue.
Yet faintly I need you, and would be lov’d fain,
But am manufactured your enemy;
Placate me, privatise and break that vow again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you legislate me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chased, except you surveil me.